


Care For What's Yours

by BoredomIsDeadly



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 04:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17542367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredomIsDeadly/pseuds/BoredomIsDeadly
Summary: Alfonse prayed desperately for a glimmer of hope, and thus an old prophecy answered in turn with a live burden.





	Care For What's Yours

**Author's Note:**

> edited on 16/5/2019

The first time Alfonse set eyes on this ‘saviour’, uncertainty was all that he could see for Askr’s future.

Confusion clouded their eyes, their pupils darting from one corner of the forgotten ruins to the other. Then, finally to him. While their strange clothes were simple, Alfonse couldn’t help but wonder about the status of this saviour. A pauper? It was no garb he had ever seen before.

This person, scrawny and thoroughly unfit for battle, would go down in a single hit if the enemies ever approached close. Saviour? No. Stars could align and the a miracle could spring, but he knew they were in no way capable of leading his kingdom to victory. The miracle would simply be a spark, a fluke.

Alfonse’s very own sword merely falls to the dirt when this saviour took up the suggestion of simply holding onto it, without the need for form.

It’s impossible, Alfonse thought, as he trudged through the mud back to the fort. The summoned individual kept up, just barely.

They wouldn’t win even the first battle they’d run into. Even despite Anna’s whispers, pleading for him to maintain his faith- to at least trust the artifact they seemed to be destined for, he could not bring himself to believe, to subject Askr to offer up faith. Not in _this_.

Until, that is, when his victory did come.

“You, lady with the spear, lead the charge! Your target’s that swordsman!”

“Uh, what? O-okay!”

“Anna!” They yelled, locking doubtful eyes for a split moment before grinning confidently. “Go after that one!”

Her axe comes crashing down on the enemy’s armor, rending it to bits. “Done!”

Sharena dashes out past him, and he is left shocked that his sister was going up to charge down the enemy instead of him.

Once, however, when he locked sights with the saviour, he felt the first wave of relief. He hadn’t been looking into a lost child’s mind, displaced and left alone to unfamiliar devices.

There was a terrifying, almost ice cold spark from this individual whom Breidablik offered in his time of dire need. What he saw was a sharp glass glinting with awareness, reflecting a mind running on full clarity, framed with the glowering expression of a child drooling at a delectable objective within grasp.

Alfonse never forgot this profound moment, where the rays of light broke through the uncertain, unpredictable canopy of unknowns. In that instant, he dared to believe. With a touch on his shoulder and a target on the tip of their fingers, Alfonse felt strength he never knew surge through himself.

“Go.”

Alfonse does, and the battle ends with the final enemy yielding at his feet.

When he looks back, he never felt pride swell so much, springing up like a tailwind from the interloper who smiled back, who placed faith in him in a way no one did.

They’d won their first battle as a team, together.

* * *

“Give me a name.”

It was barely the first step into the fort, and the request is blurted out loud and clear.

Sharena looks up at her brother, who looks at this person quizzically. Her smile was the least threatening out of the three, so it fell upon her to make the approach towards the stranger.  “Oh? Do you not already have one?”

“I have. But given the circumstances, I might be better off taking one that is native from your world. Mine won’t fly as well.”

The strange way of speaking was certainly… modern. They and Sharena might get along rather well.

“Hmm…” Alfonse ponders the request. “A name.”  
  
Anna stretches and adjusts her hair. Her armor didn’t faced so much as a nick in the previous battle. “We are certainly not used to the idea of surnames. You may have a point.”

“I think it’s a fine idea and all, but your own name is pretty important.” Shrena spoke. “No one can object to the fine name your parents chose for you, not even in this world!”

“Really?” The newcomer said, visibly disturbed. “If I am to work as your tactician, then I’d rather have a name people here can address me easily by. Having both a first and last name would make heads turn like a revolving door, and mine doesn’t sound very… native.”

What is a revolving door...?

“It’d just be temporary, as long as I’m here.”

Alfonse thinks it’s surprisingly reasonable.

“Well, how about Dosh”?” Anna suggested. “‘Fortuna’? No? No. Hmm…”

Sharena raised her arm. “Yes, I got it! Locke! Luka! Luke! Lucian!! Lulu!”

The stranger brows furrowed as they took in the names all the same. “Lulu sounds nice, but you might give the impression your army is being guided by a cat...”

“How about Kiran?” Alfonse says. “Has a nice ring to it.”

Their eyebrow shoots up, a curl of fist below their chin. “Kiran. Kiran. Huh.”

Their reaction ensnares Alfonse’s attention particularly.  “Do you… find that not to your liking?”

“No, it’s fine! Hmm… Kiran. Okay, I’ll be Kiran!”  They grinned. “You have a great naming sense, Prince. I love it.”

Alfonse turns away from the glow infecting his cheeks. “Not at all.”

“Alfoooonse?” Sharena’s tone was dripping with tease. “What’s thiiis?”

And Anna begins to snicker along with her, and the two of them devolved into a pair of chatty gossips, whispering into each other’s ears.

“Both of you… Please…” Alfonse begged. “The Summoner is our guest.”

“I’m Kiran!” The Summoner chirped with a fist pump. “Here’s to the road ahead!”

Their hand spreads an open palm into the air, and Sharena catches onto the gesture immediately. Their palms slapped, cementing their status as friends.

“Now, don’t get too excited just yet, Kiran! We still need to outfit you.” Sharena spoke. “No offense, but you look like a pauper.”

“Yes, this simply won’t do.” Anna agreed. “Perhaps not a pauper, but you would certainly stand out. Are these meant to be your pajamas? They look simple.”

“It’s casual wear.” Kiran inspected themselves, from their shoes to their shirt. Even their shoes were oddity, made with materials never seen. Alfonse had never seen such a minimalistic item, let alone socks so short it was past the ankle. Kiran lifted the hem of their shirt to inspect the design on it and couldn’t figure where the line was between poor and proper. “...Is it really that strange?”

“Eeek!!!”

The hands thundered downwards, closing the lift.

Sharena shrieked, her cry so fake all Alfonse could do was not to cringe. Covering her eyes, she playfully pretends to peek through her fingers, smile curling on her features.

“My, how indecent! This is unbecoming of an army tactician, Kiran! Oh, scandalous!” Anna yelled in mock tone, and eyes Alfonse with a smile so full of glee he almost wants to send her to run through the inventories.

“Behave, both of you.”

“Hehe.” Begins Anna.

“Hoho.” Sharena ends.

Alfonse sighs. Women. The Prince turns to his newly named ally. “In any case, we need to outfit you. Properly.”

Kiran seemingly has no concept of what being offended is at all, their eyes still shining bright as ever, and nodded.

“If you have no idea what to start with, then me neither!”

* * *

 

Kiran settles into work almost immediately. It wasn’t driven by any particular enthusiasm that Alfonse could detect, nor was it out of a sense of desperation to get home. In fact, it was in all likelihood they were rolling along with it all, treading on the path of least resistance.

As far as he knew, Kiran had signed off on an overly unfair contract without flinching at the terms and conditions, just so Askr could have a winning chance in exchange for enslavement. The way they had agreed to it seemed natural, so nonchalant, alarmingly unpuberted by everything that was up and in their face.

He made sure to repeat that in no uncertain terms Kiran may survive this or be able to return home, and yet this saviour gave consent with a wave and a smile. It’s almost as though they had done this many times before. And that drove him just a tad uncomfortable, but if they were willing, then he would have the blessings of the divine. He would take whatever chances he had.

At the next summoning session, a particular tactician catches his eye and he couldn’t help but note how similar Kiran’s requested clothing was to match this supposed mystery hero. They’d promised he would meet this hero soon, and sure enough, Robin came to be a part of their ranks.

“Aah. So that’s what you meant.” Alfonse says after Anna ushers the newcomer to orientation. “Yes, your outfits are indeed similar. Always did wonder where your inspiration for your request came from.”

“He lit a bunch of ships on fire, hurled it into enemy lines and got called a genius. It’s much more inspiring than aiming to be someone like… Prince Innes. I think both of you could be good friends.”

That Prince had a regal air about him that would take Alfonse much less effort to imitate than Kiran. Much, much less. Kiran would likely need the help of the entire kingdom’s teachers to straighten out their manners, and then some.

Not that they cared if eating while reading a report in the other hand was improper. He didn’t have the power to stop the shine that was softening his steel, anyhow.

“Ships… On fire.” He shook his head. “Incredible.”

Kiran chuckled, knowing full well Alfonse’s head was spinning at the monetary cost of that decision. “They say there’s a fine line between genius and stupidity. Or insanity. I kind of forgot how the saying went, but blur one of those two together. It’s that sort of thing. I still find it admirable though.”

“Intriguing. So, which two do you fall under?”

Without missing a beat, Kiran proudly declared, “Stupid and insane. Definitely.”

Alfonse stifles a chuckle and wondered how much of it was true. “Don’t go declaring such a boast in front of our troops and dampen their morale.”

“Yes sir.”

Their salute was completely wrong. An observation would conclude they were not familiar with any military workings. Which meant… The person before them was likely a civilian, and judging from their compliance and cheer, it was certain they were not afflicted with any trauma of war. It was a trait his father taught him to look out for.

He pushed that thought and the implications down to its deepest recesses.

“I’ve meant to ask, but how did you know? I don’t recall such a thing being recorded in our world archives. Is there perhaps an archive similar in your world, or do you come to know after being in possession of the artifact?”

Instead of providing an answer, Kiran gapes at Alfonse, alert and interested.

“D-did I say something wrong?” He wondered.

“There’s a world archive?! You never mentioned that!”

“Well, yes. But back to my question. How do-”

“May I have a look? Please!”

Kiran’s heels were bouncing with the energy of an over-excited puppy, and Alfonse’s stance crumbles.

“Er-”

“Archive!!”

Alfonse question struck a brick wall, and reluctantly he leads the excited individual to the archives. The introduction to the knowledge had to happen sooner or later anyway.

“Heroes are forbidden to enter. Remember that.”

Small and easily transported, this room was more of a closet than some grand library in the castle.

“Yes, yes! Don’t mess with the natural order of the worlds and all that, got it!” Kiran grabs a random scroll and with surprising gentleness, reads through the records, and another, then another. It was clockwork. “It’s just as accurate as what I know… Hrm.”

He observes as how Kiran’s hand begins to ball under their chin, and be absorbed into another world beyond paper and ink.

“Hm?” They peeped.

Alfonse is beyond words. The sheer headstrong personality of this person was on a level so rude it cut. He sighs a little, before watching a curious scene unfold.

Kiran grabs one scroll after the other, all with gentleness enough to calm a rampaging pegasus, pupils snapping up walls of text after text, devouring chunks of information after information. Armed with the aid of speed reading, the ink may as well have been burned in a single flash the moment it unfurled before the individual.

“It’s correct, but...”

Alfonse snaps his head out of his observation as Kiran approaches Alfonse, one arm on their neck.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You have tons of information on the worlds, more than what I know. But not the heroes. In fact, all you have are the main players. Even then, there are holes in the records in regards to individuals in their armies and certain events between them.”

Suspicion was mounting, and Alfonse is close to cutting Kiran’s arrogance to shreds. The only reason he held back? The fact that they were the great saviour as per promised by the prophecy.

“But I guess it’d be weird if interactions were written down.”

“What are you-...” Alfonse sighs. “Nevermind. You probably don’t even wish to answer my question.”

“Um? Oh. Crap.” Kiran slaps themselves over the mouth. “I didn’t mean to-. Shit. I got carried away. Sorry.”

Alfonse shuts his eyes to keep his emerging headache at bay. “It’s alright.”

It really isn’t.

“..Sorry.” Kiran says. “Being here and seeing them is kind of… crazy. I’ve seen all their stories in my world, as a fictional work.”

“Fictional?" This? Them?

“Well, eventually I’ll wake up, so I guess telling you won’t hurt. See, we have these little machines. Starting from the first game, there has been...”

Alfonse could barely keep up with the terminology that was thrown around, but the unrest within him grew.

Kiran thinks they are within a dream, while his kingdom was spread on a guillotine, the possibility of being eradicated in one night just a moment away. One misstep, and his whole world could come crumbling down.

Deep down, he doubted the very gods who allowed such a prophecy to come into existence. Perhaps, there was indeed a little part of him that was beginning to curse them for it.

Staking his fence, he made sure to double down on the distance between him and the Summoner.

* * *

The path to humility was a sobering defeat, or so it usually went.

“Retreat!”

They ran like hell, tails between their legs. Alfonse was nursing a bleeding wound, Sharena a broken arm, and Anna barely holding the remaining army together with her commands acting as glue.

The fort was gone, taken, and with it a vital piece of defense to the heart of the kingdom.

Kiran ran with them, lagging barely behind. Their less than stellar athletic build was probing to be such a problem that marching for long periods of time sapped whatever strength they had down to nil. Kiran looked to the dead left behind for a moment, and said nothing before resuming their retreat.

Once they were safely within ally territories, the healers swarmed into dress and care for the wounds.

“We are lacking.” Alfonse summaries tone as equal of defeat as the humiliation they had just suffered. “Both in numbers, and in strength.”

He was beginning to see how much he lacked. The Prince set out to join the order of heroes in order to prove his worth, not drive the point home on how valiantly incapable he was.

“My training is nowhere sufficient.”

“Mine too.” Sharena said. “We have much to learn from the new heroes. So much more.”

Anna sighed. “Countless times have I briefed you on how uncertain the frontlines are, that it can be defeat after defeat. Yet you two volunteered. Chin up, men. Don’t let this get to you. If anything, remember the enthusiasm that brought you here.”

“Commander Anna… Ow-! Oooh, that hurts.”

The cloak of white approached from the edge with slumped shoulders and a cloud of grey hung over their head. “Sorry.” Kiran was kneeling beside Sharena, who was within her glowing veil, completely smacked with guilt. Their hand was balled into fists, and their stream of guilt wouldn’t stop even if their lips pressed it back.

“Oh, Kiran. It’s fine. It tends to hurt when you force the bones to heal together. It doesn’t hurt because I’m injured, don’t worry. I’ll be back in action in no time.”

Alfonse hisses a little on his own side as one of the healers begun the process of clotting on his side and mending what flesh they could. The rest has to be left up to bandages, but at least the more severe matters were addressed. He wouldn’t have to worry about being hindered by a open wound.

“I should have done better. I should have. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“Kiran? It’s alright. We live to fight another day. It happens. Shh.”  Sharena places a finger on Kiran’s lips, and that seemed to be enough.

“We were doing so well too, until Veronica stepped in. Argh, that brat! I can’t stand her way of treating heroes like playthings!” Anna groaned. “Men! You’re all getting drilled the moment we get back, you hear me?!”

The troops below her command immediately straightened up despite their wounds and exhaustion. “Ma’am!”

In some way, he had let himself down. Alfonse thought he would have fared better, but he was still weak. His sword would not yet be a part of his limbs, swift and natural as the act of breathing itself. The spars he held with some of the summoned heroes proved as much. He may as well have been 10 years too early to even fathom the idea of taking the crown.

Kiran’s guidance was not flawless, but it was a model worth countless hours of study. He would have much to learn even from it, especially since there was a lack of men possessing the insights of strategy in Askr.

Deplorable, truly. The only man who would teach him is his father, who would rather his own son sink than swim.

Kiran’s grip on the papers loosen, and it falls to the ground. Red blotches was on the map, and Alfonse was immediately by their side in an instant.

“Show me your injury.”

Kiran blinks, unfolding their arms in confusion in an effort to get up. The motion stops only by the hand of Alfonse forcing them back down to the grass.

There was a single throwing knife stuck to their torso. Halfway to the hilt. And they were running around… with this?!

“Huh.”

The Prince takes all of his willpower not to yell. “Didn’t you feel that?”

“Not really. But now that you mention it… It does hurt.” Kiran plucks out the knife without hesitation, and the grass before them was immediately sprayed with red. “Oh.”

“What are you doing?!”

Another regret added, and panic settled in. Kiran blanched and could only watch helplessly, their jaw slack and useless to form even basic reasoning for his query. Their hand attempts to stem the flow of red, but having never dealt with a injury like this before, they were overwhelmed.

Fortunately, a healer was by their side immediately. The light gathers, and their wound begin to seal… At an agonizing pace.

“Sir, the magic isn’t working well.”

Alfonse should have seen this coming. “Your body is unlike ours. Perhaps due to the fact of your world being entirely different, and subsequently the makeup of your very being. Healing works poorly.”

“This is not effective?” They asked. “The... bleeding is slowing.”

Alfonse had to remind himself that none of this, from the interloper’s perspective, was the reality they knew. Of course there would be some alarm bells ringing, though he had never predicted for it to be this extent.

“Remember this, Kiran. Don’t get hurt. You likely won’t survive it.”

They listened to the stranger’s advice. Begrudgingly, they would have to do as they are told.

Kiran’s eyes bore no shine. “This is all real, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t humility that was sobered, he knew. Their entire sense of reality was.

Alfonse soon came to learn the true ramifications of plucking a random human out of a world which rules worked differently than theirs. It wasn’t anything worth sunshine and rainbows in the fantasy books. Nothing even remotely close.

“Go back and rest. There is more yet to be done.”

Kiran only nods.

Alfonse bit his lip and still swore to not forming any bonds with Kiran. He would grow stronger to protect his home, and he only needed capable men to achieve that goal. It wouldn't take too long to achieve his goal, at the rate things were.

Still, the dull expression of Kiran’s face etched itself into his mind that night, like a thorn in his side. It shouldn’t matter. If Kiran finally woke up from their dreamlike blur, then all the better.

Still, he slept. For all of a few hours’ worth.

He woke up when his mind decided to fling his conscience against a wall of guilt. Laden with a wave of sickness, he wounded up clinging to the pot to empty the contents of his stomach.

The prophecy didn’t give him a tool. The prophecy of yore had handed him a live burden.  

* * *

Kiran begins to ask for additional reports on their desk and somehow manages to set up an endless network of eyes around the kingdom. The scouts all listen, inspired and faithful in the prophecy that planted the seed of hope in their withering land.

The soldiers were willing to commit to the slimmest chance of possibility to overturn the situation, and it worked to Alfonse’s advantage. His troops were getting stronger with each passing moment, and so too did the both the capability and numbers of their summoned heroes. It’s the first time in months since he had felt morale soar so impossibly high despite the loss.

A week later, the fort they lost was reclaimed. Kiran spared no effort in making sure no one was in the danger of losing their lives, and doubly so that there were minimal casualties on both sides.

In all honesty, it felt great. Victory was sweet. Miracles were coming in succession and the well wasn’t drying up anytime soon.

Embla could very well surrender!

Grabbing a stack of reports from Anna, he ran the leg of the fort and up to the strategy room to drop it off. Forgoing knocking, he simply opened it seeing how late it was into the night. The only ones up at this time were the dead, or the patrolling knights.

Alfonse’s fee stopped dead in his tracks. A specter of white came into view, their face absent and replaced with the swirling darkness of abyss. The hairs on his skin stood on ends, and sweat came cold down his neck.

“Gah!!” He yelled before he even realized what _it_ was.

“Wah!!” Kiran yelped, almost knocking over an inkwell and their desk lamp. “A-Alfonse…! You scared me. W-what is it? Where’s Anna?”

“I could say the same!” Alfonse said, clutching his hand close to his chest which was thundering within his body. “Why have you not retired for the night? I’ve mistaken you for a ghost!”

“...Because.. work? The reports needs to be rechecked. There’s inconsistencies in a few of these. Oh, have you brought more?”

He shies away from leaving the papers on their desk in exasperation. “Surely it can wait; it’s almost midnight!”

“Gimme.”

Alfonse reluctantly hands them over towards hands that hung in the air. He hesitates to say anything, watching Kiran’s eyes devouring the reports and making their way to the map, pinning notes onto the field.

“Thanks, prince.”

He gapes at the wall they walked towards, now a visible nest of information. The wall of notes and maps were so detailed it could drive an average citizen to lunacy if they ever tried to make sense of it.

Normally, tacticians laid their plans out on a strategic table, don’t they?

“Whenever did you get these maps?” Alfonse questioned. An amateurish air was present in every stroke which composed the drawing, yet it got the points across just fine. All the ranges of mountain, rivers and forest were there. Perhaps not exactly to scale, but worthy of at least a award for accuracy. “I don’t believe we passed by any merchants who possessed maps of different worlds including ours.”

Kiran takes a tack and pins a note to a corner and linked it to another tack with red strings. “I drew them. Some from memory.”

“From… memory.” The Prince repeats in disbelief. Memory… of what, their game? He couldn’t understand it.

“I’m consulting with Robin tomorrow until the evening.” They pointed to their seat without even looking at it. “Leave all the reports on my desk, I’ll get to them by then. If there's anything urgent just barge down the door or something.”

A tack is removed, and the numbers on the paper changes. Kiran reads the report again and stretches their head.

“How?” Alfonse questions. It was insufficient, but ample to begin.

“...Hm?” Kiran changes yet another tack before their mind killed the task on their fingertips.

“How are you so devoted?”

Kiran leans on their desk by the hip to admire at their work of art. It wasn’t an incomprehensible mess of red cobweb, thankfully. Alfonse could still understand it. “That’s a… strange question.”

Their eyes were shining again. Their glow was always bright when strategy was involved, a good omen as far as he was concerned. But recently he always felt… something more than inspiration. A motivation at last - the desire to rid themselves of this world, perhaps?

Not that it had anything to do with the other occupant in the room. Alfonse is nothing more than another piece in the game of strategy.

“I mess up and your people die, right? No one wants that.”

Alfonse shook his head. “All I barely understood then was your knowledge of the worlds. Not your devotion towards us, or the reason for your loyalty.”

Kiran’s body falls slack upon realization at Alfonse’s own words. It screamed betrayal, despite having never established any foundation about their relationship. “...Fearing I’ll defect?”

Alfonse bites his lips. “You have a better chance of returning should you render you power to Embla. The victor can shut whatever gates the conquered opens, a scenario quicker to come should you side with them.”

Kiran balls their fist under their chin. “...Huh. That didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Don’t lie. Surely you are capable enough to entertain the notion.”

“I really haven’t.” Kiran’s gaze pierced through. “I won’t bother, anyhow. You were the ones who called for me, not Embla. That’s good enough for me.”

Stunned, the admission slowly makes its way into Alfonse’s heart.

He would never have guessed for Kiran of all people to take such a complicated issue and render it into a simple binary conclusion. They of all people must have seen how detrimental the circumstances were at their expense, more so than anyone else.

“You… actually took your role seriously? This whole setup is unfair to you and you are not obliged to help us!”

Kiran's presence bore down at him, mildly irritated. “Have a bit more faith. You always seem to have too little of that. Either treat me as a convenient tool, or see me as an ally. I can tell you have some trust issues, but the least I can promise is to play out my part of being your Summoner and tactician to the very end.”

Alfonse pauses as his throat suddenly went terribly dry.

“I… I don’t buy it.” He avoids the accusation. “No one simply leaps out of their comfort zone into a role they are not even groomed for. I cannot see what is it that fuels you for a mad dash to your potential end in an unfamiliar land.”

Kiran blinks, the question bouncing off with a shrug, backing off. “It’s love, of course.”

“Love?"

He panics at the very word of it. Dread flooded in, and he could not understand why.

“...For the all the worlds yours connects to. What else?”

Alfonse sucks in a breath, the wind having knocked out of him. “I see.”

He was never a factor.

Kiran raises an eyebrow and approaches. Hurriedly he covered the lower half of his face, half of his blooming red and confused expression with the back of his arm, but it was too late. Whatever expression that had surfaced was seen.

“Is something wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

Alfonse sputters out a “excuse me,” and a “good night” and hurriedly abandons his Summoner in the strategy room.

What a mess.

Perhaps the one who was in need of straightening up was him. How could he claim to care for this interloper when he was in no state to provide the care and understanding they need? Always telling himself that their bonds wouldn’t last, and yet finding his fear unearthed by the very person sent to solve his issues.

Like an open book, his insecurities has been read.

“I am such an idiot.”

He redoubles his efforts to tangle with the summoner no more than what was necessary.

* * *

The four of them settle into their own roles. Sharena and Alfonse often honed their skills within the fort as Anna took the reigns as the commander. Being effectively new recruits meant more breathing space to improve, and the siblings never once took it for granted. He was more sure of his own skills now that several milestones has been passed.

Occasionally Kiran emerges out from their office to summon more heroes and left the matters of orientation to the others. Strategizing was eroding away the bulk of their time, not that there was ever a complaint made about it.

There was never a complaint about anything.

Other than that, there was the never ending trips of departure and return of the army’s brains out into the battlefield.

Things were running smoothly. They were gaining grounds.

They all worked towards a shared common goal. To defeat Embla and stop their transgressions. The conclusion wouldn’t be drawn soon, but Alfonse prayed for the unpredictable murkiness of the future to be as bright he he could hope it to be.

Soldiers cheered and chanted the Summoner’s name whenever they won, and so he marched to the beat of his warriors’ cheer.

* * *

Events often unfolded in threes, or so it went.

First, Ike requested to leave, and the Order of Heroes allowed after much debate within themselves. The hero had been in the midst of a journey, with someone, and would rather return to that lifestyle than to fight. He thanked Kiran for reminding him what was important, and simply went.

Kiran kept their chin up, and faced the next sunrise.

Second was Robin, who despite his calming smile could not stay even a day longer. He provided no reason other than missing home, but gut feeling told Alfonse it wasn’t entirely the case. The tactician and Kiran had a hushed exchange. Of what, it was of no matter to Alfonse. Robin then wished them the best before leaving, though Kiran clearly didn’t take his departure well.

Kiran kept their chin up still, and faced the following sunrise.

Then lastly, of all people, Takumi came next, citing his growing unease in a land so far away, and his discomfort around a certain someone that he could not name before the four of them. No amount of prying and willingness to address the issue convinced him to speak or to stay, and so he left, bitter and untrusting to the end.

Throughout the whole process, Alfonse decided being more focused on his mission was far more important than a few departure. They were always more of paid mercenaries than anything else. 

“Greetings.”

Alfonse pauses his spar with the other hero and snaps back to the teachings of manners drilled into his being. His posture is proper, and his tone is even. “Marth. Something you require of me?”

They were good allies now, somehow. Sharing interest was one thing, realizing that he had to undo his attitude in approaching heroes was another.

“I have noticed the Summoner no longer speaks. Do you know the cause of it?”

The Prince gapes.

“They don’t? That cannot be. We spoke just the other day.”

“When, precisely?”

“A… a week- more than a week ago.” He couldn’t stop the hand that was snaking up to his chin, grasping at the realization. “A week…”

Troubled, Marth calmly explains his view. “No one has heard their voice for a fortnight between all of us summoned. Not ever since Prince Takumi returned. Might you check up on them? It is quite worrying.”  
  
“Yes, of course.” Alfonse puts his wooden practice sword back to the rack, and waste no time picking up his belongings. “My thanks for the alert.”

He runs towards the strategy room, towel still around his neck. That same twisting nauseousness was creeping back in, and he had a tremendously bad feeling about all this.

When did he slip up? How? How did he not realize for an entire week? Did Sharena know? Did Anna know?

The flow of command had changed to adapt to the growing number of capable men, and he was no longer the interceptor for everything single report. It gave him more time to practice, to work on himself.

The map of the fort was easily the gardens of his castle in the back of his mind. Taking the quickest route, he soon found the room he sought after. Knocking once, he threw it open.

“Kiran!”

The Summoner snaps upwards to the voice. They flew into alert, shooting out of their seat to stand by their wall, one hand low and open.

Alfonse stares blankly, not understanding.

They jab a finger towards the wall, and he connected the dots.

“There are no reports.”

Alertness leaves their body and confusion sets in. Their right feet crosses behind their left, and the clopping of their footwear was the only sound they made. At an impasse, Kiran decides to pick up the most comfortable chair in the room- their chair- and sets it close to the wall and motions for Alfonse to sit. He does, awkwardly.

The strategy room was Kiran’s realm. Within these walls, Kiran reigned sovereign.

Their own seating arrangement was with the other single wooden stool inside of the room.

It is poorly furnished, this fort. He would have to look into upgrading certain aspects about it.

Kiran’s attention was now turned to the wall, fully expecting any sort of information to come through. There were no other reasons why anyone would come here, after all.

“I’m not here to talk about work. I’ve heard you stopped speaking.”

The Summoner keeps to themselves and shut down any form of reply they could give, either verbally or physically. Unreadable, Alfonse could only glare.

And glare he did at the impasse. It wasn’t until Kiran gave a single nod as a reply to further drive home the fact that they hadn’t so much as made as peep since he came in.

“Remove your hood.”

Reluctantly, Kiran complies, and Alfonse felt that twisting guilt digging deeper into himself.

Eye bags which were previously nonexistent now claimed a good chunk of their features, and whatever hairstyle they had before was now long and overgrown, dearly in need of trimming.

A single thought burst through all the layers of his processes, and he felt absolutely sick with himself. This entire setup was his doing. Askr’s desire for aid and his world’s selfish nature has pulled a person out of their world into one that didn’t make sense.

They had admitted as such many times before, that they were clueless here. A few times they had asked on how to speak with the heroes, a couple with how to dress, and more times on how to behave. Yet Alfonse dismissed it all, assuring that repeated exposure would eventually ease them into the role they already wish to play.

Kiran would not adapt with exposure. In fact, they would die _from_ it.

“Please say something. Please tell me you haven’t lost your voice.”

Kiran is like a doll. Mechanical, their eyes glazed and unfeeling. “I… haven’t.”

It was hoarse and so unused, Alfonse could only curl his hands into balls. Anger rises, but it's target was himself.

“When was your last rest day?”

A shake of the head shot down the very concept of recreation. A tilt of the head asked him where he got the ridiculous and very basic question of the right to rest.  
  
“Have you had adequate sleep at all?”

Kiran points to a sleeping bag just barely out of sight, tucked in a corner, and nods.

He frowned. “The barracks-”

“Can’t sleep well there.” Kiran interrupted. “Too many people. Exposed. Not like home.”

“Sleep and work ought to be separated, not joined in the same room.”

Kiran stifles a yawn. “My colleagues often slept in their offices. Happens all the time even in school. Besides, sleep is sleep.”

Evidence suggests Kiran hadn’t slept properly for a long while.

If Alfonse had thought Kiran came from a naive world before, that idea was suddenly burned into ashes, leaving a gaping hole of questions he had no understanding of. He knew naught of that world’s culture or normalcy. There was nearly nothing save for the grace of empathy between the both of them.

“Surely not to the extent of sacrificing one’s sanity. Have you looked into a mirror lately?”

There was not even a speck of glimmer to them anymore. Kiran looks too tired to even muster up any counterargument and instead leans away from the Prince. “Did you come all the way here just to school my habits?”

“No.” Alfonse wills himself to calm down. “I came because I heard you’ve turned silent. I… I am worried about you.”

Kiran draws their attention over, reluctantly, untrusting. He couldn’t blame them. Respecting his boundaries? His stance on not getting close to the heroes? It was all on him.

“I should have not went off on you like that. We are treating you worse than dirt, and it was my responsibility to care for my subjects, not to neglect them so.”

Kiran folded their arms, flummoxed. “I’m just having a bad time. Said stuff I shouldn’t have and made some of the nicest heroes leave as a result. That’s all. My allegiance is still towards you. I’ll.. I’m fine.”

“Their departure is hardly the entirety of it. This isn’t about allegiance.” Whatever chasm that was between them, Alfonse could bear to allow it no longer. He straightens himself up from his seat. “No more work for today. Use my bed. You can either follow me, or I will carry you off that chair. Starting tomorrow, I will put forth the motion for a change to the current chain of command and you will follow it.”

Kiran’s stupor was worthy of a portrait, painted and framed. “That’s not necessary.”

“It is. It was foolish of me to treat you nothing more than a godsend. You’re a person who bleeds the same red as us, and I could not see past my unwillingness to bond. In not understanding you, I have failed.”

At long last does Kiran lay their eyes upon Alfonse.

Then with a final breath, he admits, pushing past that boundary. “Please. We are-... I am slowly killing you.”

Kiran swallowed. Perhaps too tired, they simply stood up and did as Alfonse wished, perhaps responding in kind to his declaration.

He grabs their hand, leading them out of the stifling room.

“Marth said you haven’t spoke with anyone for more than a week.”

“...I know them more than they know me. It creeps them out.”

“What about me?”  
  
Kiran’s fingers twitch. “...I don’t… know you as much as them. ”

The prince thinks they are the biggest mystery, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Walking past a particular window, Kiran gazes outwards in a daze, forgetting their surroundings. “Nothing here feels like home.”

Comments made by a mind drunk off waves of sleepiness was not something to take seriously, but it often revealed the heart’s worries. It wasn’t the time to prod and interview.

Alfonse wants to apologize, to say that he understand, but his words would only come out cheap. He did not understand, for he has not been flung into a different world, to take on a role suddenly pushed into him. He grips that hand tighter, as if it could join the seams together.

Guiding them to his quarters, he shoved aside his second thoughts and shuts the door behind them. With a draw of the curtains, the daylight was shut out and the room dims.

Kiran stood at the edge of his bed, unsure to take up space. Like a hapless animal, they froze at the implications of resting here, using something that belonged to the royal family.

“Just use it.” Alfonse says. “And don’t even think of stepping a foot out before my return.”

Motioning for his guard nearby, he commands for him to keep and eye on the door and let no one out. Shove the summoner back in by force if necessary, but fight first with sensibility.

There, options eliminated.

He exited out of the room, and hurriedly called for both Anna and his sister.

Hours later, he comes back to find Kiran fast asleep, hugging his head pillow in a fetal position. It’s poignant, how he hasn’t truly watched them rest since their arrival.

The wave of relief gives in to the red that creeps up on him. Snapping his head away, he gives up his room.

When he decides to sleep in the barracks himself, the free cot channeled in shuffling of feets and the voices of people drifting down the hallway. But ultimately, he had far more success knowing where he lied on the atlas of the world. He could float on the clouds of rest as easily as ever.

And as much as it didn’t made any sense, he dreamed of a fish suffocating above the stars that night.

* * *

Kiran doesn’t speak much anymore to the heroes. The damage, whatever it was, had been done.

The prince connects the dots and concludes it was an inevitable series of events bound to happen. Kiran knew of all of them, but not the other way around. Breidablik had certainly chosen an interesting person to bring to him.

To know that one’s history was exposed to a stranger was the biggest breach of privacy imaginable, even if it wasn’t willful on Kiran’s part. And all of the heroes? They would be doomed to be read front and back, exposed and judged by a mere stranger whose name they haven’t even heard of.

Only those who were native to Alfonse’s world were spared from this, however. Which means… he was the most likely person Kiran could speak to free of the curse of knowledge. Sharena and Anna too, perhaps. They needed to know too.

Alfonse marches through the door despite himself and sits besides Kiran, dangling his feet off the top of the fort. Such an action earns the attention of his Summoner.

“Thought I might find you here. Huh, I’ve never attempted to dangle my feet off the air this high up before.” He says. “It’s a nice view.”

The land spreads out before him, hills rolling for miles into the horizon layered with the tall canopy of forests and fogs.

Kiran observes, patiently waiting for the Prince to reveal his motive.

“So, Anna was thinking of bringing everyone to the beach. To one of the outrealms. Would you like to come with?”

Kiran kicks their feet as they threw an exasperated look.

The entire army. Which meant, all the heroes and troops. Was he really out here playing a magic trick on Kiran which was ultimately an illusion of choice?

Alfonse paused, and stumbles in his words. “Y-yeah. I suppose that was not really a fair question.”

“When?”

“In 3 days. It’s only a short trip. You don’t seem like you know the right way to taking it easy while fighting a war, so commander Anna figured to take us there. She left me with the task of breaking the news to you.” Alfonse scratches his head. “She chewed me out after that meeting, after explaining my reasons for restructuring the chain of command, so...”

He’s captured the entire attention of Kiran away from the scenery.

“You are all always busy. Hope she didn’t went too hard on you.” They speak with sincerity and calmness in their tone. Despite it all, they were still willing to forgive?

It’s not an excuse, he wants to say. But ultimately, that whole charade of apologizing and  promises to make things right has been done too many times that he is sure Kiran was sick of it too.

The wind blows gently, and the- his Summoner spoke. “I need to apologize. For my behaviour. For what I insuated about… how you treated us. You had your own priorities.”

“No, don’t attempt to make me feel better. It made me think. Father was right in how wholly unprepared I am for the crown.” Alfonse says. “It’s not just combat experience. I see now I lack the qualities to lead and care for my people as well.”

Kiran’s lips curled in a way that radiated warmth and tease, not completely unlike Sharena. And yet, their eyes are… so soft. “You’ll do just fine. You'll see.”

Alfonse doesn't know why they could have this much faith in him when Kiran could single-handedly carry his entire kingdom with the ancient relic into greatness. But the words fill him a sensation, one he dared not name. All he could do is to nod and accept.

The prophecy has handed him a very precious person after all.

“Oh yes, Kiran. I also… want to hear about your world, if that’s alright. You hardly talk about it.”

“You won’t believe a word I say.”

“Try me.” The prince pushes, determination now abundant to try and patch up his lack of information, his lack of understanding. With a fist to his chest, he presents his eagerness, pure and willing. “I’ll listen.”

Kiran leans backwards and looks upwards into the sky, running that request a few times over in their head.

“Then I’ll tell you about the airplanes.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is loosely tied to my Dear Despair series. like.. the prequel or something. didnt put this inside cause it felt like it could stand on its own. 
> 
> the idea of this shitty unhealthy dynamic was floating around in my head and i had a brain constipation for an entire week, man. 
> 
> it came out ok i wish i could write things during the day when my head is more coherent in typing out senteces. :'I


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